China DOS Union

::Note::

A guest comes from far away,
and leaves me a piece of fine silk.
Though we are more than ten thousand li apart,
my old friend’s heart is still like this.
Its pattern is a pair of mandarin ducks;
I cut it and make it into a joy-together quilt.
I stuff it with “long longing,”
and border it with knots that cannot be untied.
Like glue poured into lacquer,
who can separate this?


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Chinese Poetry - Han - Anonymous of the Han
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From no. 18 of The Nineteen Old Poems.

One duan: half a bolt. Annotation to Zuo Zhuan, Duke Zhao, year 26: “Two zhang make one duan, two duan make one liang, which is what is called a bolt.”

Joy-together quilt: “joy-together” is the name of a decorative pattern. This pattern symbolizes harmony and happiness, so objects bearing the joy-together pattern are often called by that name.

Zhu: putting silk floss into clothes or bedding is called zhu, also written “chu”; the characters are interchangeable.

Long longing: another name for silk floss. “Si” (longing) is a pun on “si” (silk), and “long” has the sense of something unbroken and continuous, so “long longing” is used as another name for silk floss.

Yuan: trimming or decorating the edge.

Knots that cannot be untied: knots tied with silk threads to show that they cannot be undone. This is used to symbolize love, similar to concentric knots and the like.

Bie: separate.

Li: part, divide.

This: refers to firmly bound feelings. These two lines above mean that their love is joined together like glue and lacquer, and no force can separate it.

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This is also a poem singing of love, and the main character is a woman. The general meaning is: an old lover has sent from far away half a bolt of figured silk, and on it is nothing other than a pair of mandarin ducks. I make it into a joy-together quilt, stuff it with silk floss, and decorate all four sides with linked knots that cannot be undone. This quilt is the symbol of the inseparable love between him and me. Ancient poems often have a flavor very close to folk songs, and this piece is a striking example.

::Note::

Green, green the grass by the riverbank,
lush, lush the willows in the garden.
Graceful, graceful the woman in the upper chamber,
bright, bright at the window lattice.
Lovely, lovely in red powder and dress,
slender, slender her pale hands stretched out.
Once she was a singing girl’s daughter,
now she is the wife of a wanderer.
The wanderer goes and does not return,
an empty bed is hard to keep alone.


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Chinese Poetry - Han - Anonymous of the Han

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From no. 2 of The Nineteen Old Poems.
The repeated words are used beautifully.

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::Note::

Far, far off the Herd-boy Star,
bright, bright the River Han Maiden.
Slender, slender she lifts her pale hands,
click, click she works the loom.
All day she cannot finish a pattern,
tears fall like rain.
The River Han is clear and shallow,
how far apart can they really be?
Between them lies only a strip of water,
yet wordlessly they cannot speak.


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Chinese Poetry - Han - Anonymous of the Han

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From no. 10 of The Nineteen Old Poems.

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::Note::

Lonely, lonely white rabbit,
running east, looking west.
Clothes are not as good as new,
people are not as good as old.


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Chinese Poetry - Han - Anonymous of the Han

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This piece first appears in volume 689 of Taiping Yulan, titled “Ancient Song of Beauty,” with no author named. Anthologies from the Ming and Qing often list it as “Ancient Song of Resentment” by Dou Xuan’s wife.

Volume 30 of Yiwen Leiju records the matter of Dou Xuan’s wife as follows: “In the Later Han, Dou Xuan was extraordinarily handsome, and the Son of Heaven married a princess to him. His former wife wrote a farewell letter to Xuan saying: ‘Your cast-off wife and rejected woman respectfully addresses Master Dou: lowly, base, and ugly, I am not equal to a noble lady. Day by day I grow more distant, while she day by day grows closer. To whom can I complain? I can only look up and cry to Heaven. Alas, Master Dou! Clothes are never disliked for being new, nor people for being old. My grief cannot be borne, my resentment cannot leave of itself. Who is that person alone, that she should occupy this place?’” It does not mention that Dou Xuan’s wife composed this song.

For now we still follow Taiping Yulan. This poem is a cast-off wife’s poem: the first two lines compare herself to one cast aside yet still attached to the old beloved, and the last two say that the old beloved too ought to remember the old.

Green, green the grass by the riverbank,
unbroken, unbroken my thoughts of the far road.
The far road cannot truly be thought through,
yet in the night I dreamed of him.
In the dream he was by my side,
but when I awoke he was in another land.
In another land, each in a different county,
turning and tossing, we cannot meet.
The withered mulberry knows the sky wind,
the sea water knows the sky’s cold.
Once inside their doors, each flatters his own;
who would speak for one another?
A guest comes from far away
and leaves me a pair of carp.
I call the boy to cook the carp,
and inside there is a foot-long letter of silk.
Kneeling long, I read the silk letter—
what exactly does the letter say?
At the top it says: take care to eat more;
at the end it says: I long for you always.


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Chinese Poetry - Han - Anonymous of the Han

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::Note::

There is a beauty in the north,
peerless and standing alone.
One glance topples a city,
a second glance topples a state.
How could one not know of toppling city and state?
Yet such a beauty cannot be found again!


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Chinese Poetry - Han - Li Yannian

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Among the many consorts and empresses favored by Emperor Wu, the one he found most unforgettable in life and death was Lady Li, exquisite and skilled in dance; and Lady Li’s winning imperial favor came from this “Song of the Beauty” by her elder brother Li Yannian, famed throughout the capital:

“At first, (Lady) Li’s elder brother Yannian understood music by nature and excelled at song and dance, and Emperor Wu loved him. Whenever he made new melodies and altered tunes, all who heard them were moved. While attending the emperor, Yannian rose, danced, and sang: ‘There is a beauty in the north, peerless and standing alone. One glance topples a city, a second glance topples a state. How could one not know of toppling city and state? Yet such a beauty cannot be found again!’ The emperor sighed and said: ‘Excellent! Could there really be such a person in the world?’ Princess Pingyang then mentioned that Yannian had a younger sister. The emperor summoned her for an audience; she truly was exquisitely beautiful and skilled in dance, and thus she won favor.” (Book of Han, “Biographies of Imperial Affines”)

That such a short song could move the mighty Emperor Wu, a ruler of extraordinary talent and ambition, and immediately stir in him a longing to behold this beauty, is probably unique in the history of ancient Chinese poetry. What is it, after all, that gives this song such moving charm?

At first glance, the opening line seems plain enough. Its praise of the “beauty” is direct and comes right out with it, without embellishment or buildup. Yet its implications are far from ordinary. The lands of the south are lovely, and their beauties are often bright-eyed, willow-waisted, delicately enchanting; the north is vast and boundless, and its ladies are often snowy-skinned and ice-like in bearing, lightly adorned and deeply feeling.

By opening with the two words “the north,” this song at once brings to the beauty it celebrates a crystalline purity of spirit quite unlike that of the south. Among the countless beauties of the north, the one on whom this song fixes its attention is only that one who stands “peerless and alone.” “Peerless” praises the fully unfolded beauty of her appearance as truly unmatched in the age; “standing alone” describes the elegance of her secluded composure, making her seem all the more refined and outstanding.

More than that, “peerless and standing alone” also faintly suggests that this beauty disdains to stand among ordinary women, and in standing alone by the rail in the absence of one who understands her, she bears a touch of quiet sorrow—then she is not only transcendent and unworldly, but all the more moving in her delicacy. This is the extraordinary hidden within the plain: just these opening two lines were probably enough to make Emperor Wu crane his neck in expectation and long for the beauty with all his heart.

Since the northern beauty is thus so refined and lovable, what kind of wonderful bearing must she have when she casts her glance? To express that is no easy matter. Besides, before Li Yannian there had already been many exquisite descriptions in poetry and fu. In “Shuoren” of the Book of Songs, a palace beauty is portrayed with lines such as “Hands like tender sprouts, skin like congealed fat, neck like a tree-grub, teeth like melon seeds, cicada head and moth brows. Her smile is charming, her beautiful eyes glance brightly,” which Qing scholar Yao Jiheng praised as “among all praises of beauty through the ages, none surpasses it; it is a masterpiece” (General Discussion of the Book of Songs).

The elegant and cultivated Song Yu, when singing of the girl next door to the east, also wrote such lines as “Add one part and she is too tall, subtract one part and she is too short,” and “with one lovely smile she bewilders Yangcheng and enchants Xiacai,” making her graceful figure and glancing beauty still more vivid (Fu on Dengtuzi’s Lust). Under such circumstances, if Li Yannian wanted to praise a beauty of the north, then without truly exceptional words, he probably could only stop dancing and stop singing.

And yet this musician, so full of talent and feeling, unexpectedly sang the marvelous line: “One glance topples a city, a second glance topples a state”—with only one look at the soldiers guarding the city walls, she could make them cast down their weapons and lose the walls; if she then cast “one turning autumn glance” at the ruler of all under Heaven, the disaster of a ruined state and extinguished line would fall upon him!

To express the beauty of a glance with the fearsome words “toppling city” and “toppling state” is truly beyond imagination! But if not for such exaggeration, how else could one show the startling, world-shaking beauty of this woman’s bearing? And precisely because that beauty is so fearsome, it becomes all the more irresistible and haunting. If beautiful things were all so easily approached and easily obtained, I fear they would lack this kind of soul-seizing attraction. This is the life philosophy behind “Is she not to be feared? Yet she is one to be cherished” (Book of Songs, “Dongshan”).

The ending of this song is also worth savoring. Above, the beauty of the woman has been exaggerated to the utmost; at the close, it suddenly turns into words of deep regret: “How could one not know of toppling city and state? Yet such a beauty cannot be found again!” Beautiful women often bring rulers the disasters of “toppled cities” and “toppled states.” Have there been few such examples in history? It seems to be warning the ruler to remember the old lessons of ruined cities and kingdoms, and not be led astray by a “beauty.”

But the next line tightens the thought another step: even if she may topple city and state, still do not miss the chance to gain such a beauty—after all, a beautiful woman like this is rarely encountered in the world and cannot be found again! These two lines deliberately pose a dilemma of choice and renunciation, but in truth they have the subtle effect of “loosening one’s grip in order to seize more firmly”: the more her inaccessibility is stressed, the more beautiful she seems; and the more one laments how hard such a beauty is to obtain, the more one is urged to go and gain her quickly.

The author’s intention was exactly to use words of deep regret to stir in Emperor Wu the sense of loss that comes from failing to obtain a peerless beauty, and thus induce him to make his choice at once. To end this way may be called singing once and sighing three times, with lingering echoes that drift on, leaving the listener full of wistfulness. No wonder that after hearing the song, Emperor Wu could not help but sigh deeply, “Could there really be such a person in the world?”—for it was just at such a moment that Lady Li was recommended and summoned, perfectly fitting the emotional atmosphere created by Li Yannian’s extraordinary song.

From this we can see that in expressing feminine beauty, this song does not excel, as “Shuoren” does, through vivid similes and lively portraiture, but shows its own character through startling exaggeration and contrast. In method, it is actually closer to Song Yu’s Fu on Dengtuzi’s Lust. If there is any difference between the two, it is that this song, while employing exaggeration and contrast, also tightly grasps that subtle psychology people often have: what is “fearsome” may all the more be “cherished,” and what is “difficult” may all the more be “sought.” In the end it produces an uncommon effect, touching the heartstrings of a great ruler of an age. That is where its artistic charm lies.

There is one other point worth noting about this song: it uses a generally neat five-character line form (the three characters “How could one not know” in line five can in fact be omitted). At the time, this form was still current only in popular folk songs. Li Yannian brought it into the upper court and matched it with lovely, moving “new melodies and altered tunes.” This undoubtedly played a catalytic role in the budding and growth of the Han literati’s five-character poetry.

Green, green the mallow in the garden,
morning dew awaits the sun to dry it.
Warm spring spreads its grace and bounty,
all things grow in shining splendor.
I always fear that when autumn comes,
yellowed flowers and leaves will wither.
A hundred rivers run east to the sea—
when will they ever flow west again?
If in youth and strength one does not strive,
in old age one will only grieve in vain.


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Chinese Poetry - Han - Music Bureau of the Two Han

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In Jiangnan one may gather lotus,
how luxuriant the lotus leaves!
Fish play among the lotus leaves,
fish play to the east of the lotus leaves, fish play to the west,
fish play to the south of the lotus leaves, fish play to the north.


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Chinese Poetry - Han - Music Bureau of the Two Han

::Note::

O Heaven!
I wish to know and love you,
and let my life never fail or fade.
Only when mountains have no peaks, rivers run dry,
winter thunder rumbles and summer snows fall,
when heaven and earth join together,
then would I dare break with you!


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Chinese Poetry - Han - Music Bureau of the Two Han
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The infatuated and intensely passionate oath of love of a woman.

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::Note::

Far, far off the Herd-boy Star, bright, bright the River Han Maiden.
Slender, slender she lifts her pale hands, click, click she works the loom.
All day she cannot finish a pattern, tears fall like rain;
The River Han is clear and shallow—how far apart can they really be!
Between them lies only a strip of water, yet wordlessly they cannot speak.


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Chinese Poetry - Han - Music Bureau of the Two Han

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River Han Maiden: refers to the Weaver Girl star.
Zhuo: to lift or move; zha zha: the sound of weaving.
The “all day” line means that the Weaver Girl has something on her mind, so she cannot weave cloth all day long.
Yingying: the appearance of water being clear and shallow; jian: separated by.
Momo: the look of gazing with feeling.
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::Note::

My strength could pull up mountains, my spirit overshadowed the age.
But the times were against me, and my steed Zhui would not run.
If Zhui will not run, what can I do!
Yu, O Yu—what can I do for you!


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Chinese Poetry - Han - Xiang Yu

::Note::

The Han troops have already seized the land,
songs of Chu rise from all four sides.
My great king’s spirit is spent—
how can your lowly concubine go on living!


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Chinese Poetry - Han - Consort Yu
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Once there was a servant of the Huo family,
surnamed Feng and named Zidu.
Relying on the general’s power,
he flirted with the Hu girl at the wineshop.
The Hu girl was fifteen years old,
alone at the wine counter on a spring day.
Her long skirt, her joined-pattern sash,
her wide sleeves, her joy-together jacket.
On her head jade from Lantian,
behind her ears pearls of Daqin.
How graceful her twin buns,
rarely seen in all the world.
One bun worth five million,
both buns worth over ten million.
Unexpectedly the son of the captain of the guards,
handsome and fine, passed by my humble house.
How bright his silver saddle,
his green canopy lingering in vain.
He came to me asking for clear wine,
lifting a jade flask by a silk cord.
He came to me asking for fine dishes,
sliced carp served on a golden plate.
He gave me a bronze mirror,
and tied my red gauze skirt.
I do not begrudge the red gauze being torn,
still less would I value this lowly body.
Men love the later wife,
women cherish the former husband.
In life there is old and new,
but noble and lowly do not overstep each other.
Many thanks, son of the captain of the guards,
your secret love is only trifling after all.


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Chinese Poetry - Han - Xin Yannian

On the north mountain there is an owl,
its wings are unclean.
When it flies, its direction is crooked;
when it rests, its perch is unsettled.
When hungry it rummages the trees,
when full it crouches in the mud.
Greedy and corrupt,
it feeds on stench and rot.
It stuffs its bowels and fills its crop,
its cravings and desires know no limit.
It cries out long to the phoenix,
saying the phoenix has no virtue.
But where the phoenix goes
is a different realm from yours.
Let this be our final parting forever;
from now on, each make your own effort.


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Chinese Poetry - Han - Zhu Mu

Facing wine, I should sing—
how long does a life really last?
Like morning dew,
the days gone by are bitterly many.
Moved with deep emotion and bold feeling,
my troubled thoughts are hard to forget.
How can I dispel my sorrow?
Only with Du Kang.
Green, green your scholar’s collar,
long, long my heart’s yearning.
It is only because of you
that I have pondered until now.
The deer cry “you you,”
feeding on wild apples.
If I have honored guests,
I will beat the se and blow the sheng.
Bright, bright as the moon—
when can it be plucked down?
Sorrow rises from within
and cannot be cut off.
Crossing paths and passing lanes,
you have come in vain to visit me.
Meeting after long separation, talking and feasting,
my heart remembers old kindness.
The moon is bright, the stars are few,
crows and magpies fly south.
Circling the tree three times,
on which branch can they rest?
A mountain never tires of height,
the sea never tires of depth.
When the Duke of Zhou spat out his food to receive men,
all under Heaven turned their hearts toward him.


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Chinese Poetry - Wei and Jin - Cao Cao
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I face east at Jieshi
to gaze upon the vast sea.
How surging the waters,
how towering the mountain isles.
Trees grow thickly,
a hundred grasses flourish.
The autumn wind is bleak,
mighty waves rise rolling.
The course of sun and moon
seems to come forth from within it;
the brilliant River of Stars
seems to come forth from its midst.
How great my joy!
I sing this to voice my will.


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Chinese Poetry - Wei and Jin - Cao Cao
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Though the divine tortoise lives long,
its years still have an end.
The winged serpent rides the mist,
yet in the end becomes dust and ash.
An old steed in its stall
still longs to gallop a thousand li;
a heroic man in his later years
still has a bold heart undiminished.
The span of life, whether full or short,
does not depend on Heaven alone;
the blessing of nurturing one’s spirit well
may let one attain a long life.
How great my joy!
I sing this to voice my will.


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Chinese Poetry - Wei and Jin - Cao Cao
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::Note::

In the morning I made an appointment with my beauty,
but by sunset she still had not come.
Fine dishes untasted,
good wine halted at the cup.
I send word with the flying birds,
to tell her I cannot bear it.
I bend down to pluck orchid blossoms,
I look up to twine cassia branches.
If the beauty is not here,
what is the use of twining them? Where then will you go?
To the corner of the great sea.
If the spirit should speak for me,
it would present you with bright pearls.
I stretch up looking for you,
standing and pacing in hesitation.
If the beauty does not come,
how can I endure even for a moment?


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Chinese Poetry - Wei and Jin - Cao Pi

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“Qiuhu Xing” belongs to the Music Bureau category “Xianghe Songs / Qingdiao Tunes.” The original meaning of the ancient lyrics was to praise the faithful chastity of Qiuhu’s wife.

The opening two lines, ten characters in all, go straight to the main theme, making clear the whole cause and result of the matter: in the morning he had made an appointment with a beauty, but by sunset she had still not come. The tone of suffering and the heavy sense of loss at once cast their shadow over the entire poem.

At this point the reader may perhaps form two questions: first, who is the “beauty” in the poem? Is she really a lovely woman whose appearance captivated Cao Pi, Emperor Wen of Wei? Or is she a worthy man whom he yearned for in order to accomplish great undertakings? Second, why did the beauty fail to keep the appointment? Was it because mountains and passes lay far apart and the road was too long for a meeting? Or was there some other twist, some change of mind midway?

What is interesting is that these questions, which readers naturally care about, are not mentioned in the poem at all—not a single word. Whether the author thought them unimportant or had some hidden reason and could not mention them, they are all omitted outside the poem. Within just sixteen lines, the poet only keeps repeating, chattering on and on in an extremely subjective, almost aria-like way about one single theme: the heavy sense of loss caused by the beauty’s failing to come.

Judging only from the literal wording, this sense of loss and anxious waiting seems to refer to the span of time from the morning appointment with the beauty until sunset when she still has not arrived. But in fact, morning and evening are only a metaphor for time, a symbol: one day stands for a whole lifetime. From morning to evening means from youth to old age, the entire course of life. Throughout one’s whole life, there remains a pursuit that can never be fulfilled, together with the vast and irreparable feeling of lack that comes from that failure.

Once this is understood, such questions as whether the “beauty” is male or female, and why the appointment was broken, perhaps truly become unimportant and may indeed be passed over. What matters is how the poet organizes and expresses this anxious yearning. Let us appreciate that for a moment:

First comes “fine dishes untasted, good wine halted at the cup.” For longing after the beauty, he has no heart for food or drink. He cannot even be bothered to touch fine wine or good dishes. The chopsticks stop in midair, the wine reaches the lips, and then suddenly it is like a freeze-frame in a film. What wells up in the heart is the deep sense of loss from a pursuit that can never be realized.

Second is “I bend down to pluck orchid blossoms, I look up to twine cassia branches.” Although the pursuit cannot be fulfilled, he does not cease to pursue it, and so his conduct is lofty and his aspiration pure. This adapts lines from Qu Yuan’s Li Sao and Nine Songs such as “I twine hidden orchids and wait” and “I twine cassia branches and wait,” to show that he stores up fragrance while awaiting the distant one.

Third, he expresses his willingness to follow the beauty to the ends of the earth, and even to have the sea spirit deliver her the most precious “bright pearls.” Fourth, he stands on tiptoe gazing far away, pacing in hesitation; his longing is almost unbearable in its urgency. For this he has tried every possible means: he has entrusted the “flying birds,” he has plucked the “orchid blossoms,” he has twined the “cassia branches,” he has even uttered vows. Though he is “standing and pacing in hesitation,” though “how can I endure even for a moment,” and his yearning and anxiety are hard to bear even briefly, still the “beauty” has not come after all.

This answers the opening line: through all these efforts, it shows an eternal despair. The whole poem is like speaking face to face with close friends and kin, tirelessly and repeatedly pouring out the heartfelt words that keep one awake all night; or like a thought hidden in the center of the heart—when could it ever be forgotten? With pent-up feeling and no one to tell, it becomes a passionate, subjective, even obstinate personal interior monologue. It has the power to seize the soul.

Chen Zuoming, in Caishutang Anthology of Ancient Poems, says that the strength of Cao Pi’s poetry lies in its ability “to turn and to conceal.” “Turn” means changeful and unsettled, as in works like “Shanzai Xing” (“Climbing the mountain to gather ferns”), where multiple comparisons and images are used to write out the course of his changeful, unsettled feelings. “Conceal” means endlessly suggestive and full of lingering meaning: with a gentle brush, a tender and graceful style, and an aria-like form, he expresses his disappointed melancholy and the unresolved knot in his heart.

Compared with his father Cao Cao’s Short Song Style, where the search for worthies ends in “A mountain never tires of height, the sea never tires of depth; when the Duke of Zhou spat out his food to receive men, all under Heaven turned their hearts toward him,” this poem is one thing where that one is another: one lingering and tender, one bleak and vast; one graceful and restrained, one bold and stirring. Such is their difference.

The fine horse is already trained,
the splendid clothes shine bright.
With the left hand I grasp the Fanruo bow,
with the right I take up Wanggui.
Wind-swift, lightning-fast,
treading on shadows, chasing flying things.
Ranging across the central plains,
with every glance and turn full of bearing.


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Chinese Poetry - Wei and Jin - Ji Kang
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We halt our followers in the orchid garden,
feed our horses on Mount Hua.
We cast sinkers on the level marsh,
fish with lines in the long stream.
Our eyes follow the returning wild geese,
our hands pluck the five-string zither.
At ease in all we lower and raise,
our roaming thoughts enter the Great Mystery.


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Chinese Poetry - Wei and Jin - Ji Kang
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Tall, tall the pine on the mountain,
rustling, rustling the wind in the valley.
How fierce the sound of the wind,
how sturdy the pine branches.
Ice and frost are bitterly severe,
yet all year long it stays upright.
Is it not that it suffers piercing cold?
Pine and cypress have their own true nature.


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Chinese Poetry - Wei and Jin - Liu Zhen
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At night I cannot sleep,
I rise and sit, plucking the singing zither.
The thin curtain reflects the bright moon,
the clear wind blows my lapels.
A lone wild goose cries beyond the open fields,
soaring birds call in the northern woods.
Pacing back and forth, what can I see?
Only sorrowful thoughts, alone wounding my heart.


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Chinese Poetry - Wei and Jin - Ruan Ji
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Biyu, a girl of a humble house,
dare not aspire to noble virtue.
Touched by your thousand-gold affection,
I am ashamed that I lack beauty to topple a city.


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Chinese Poetry - Wei and Jin - Sun Chuo
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In youth I had no taste for the common world,
my nature was always to love hills and mountains.
By mistake I fell into the dusty net,
and once gone, thirty years passed.
A caged bird longs for its old woods,
a pond fish thinks of its old deep pool.
I open up wasteland by the edge of the southern fields,
keeping my clumsiness and returning to farm and garden.
Around my house are ten-odd mu,
with eight or nine thatched rooms.
Elm and willow shade the back eaves,
peach and plum line the hall in front.
Dim, dim the distant village of men,
soft, soft the smoke from the hamlets.
Dogs bark in the deep lanes,
cocks crow atop the mulberry trees.
In courtyard and house there is no dusty clutter,
in the empty rooms there is abundant leisure.
Long have I lived in this cage,
at last I can return to nature again.


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Chinese Poetry - Wei and Jin - Tao Yuanming
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I plant beans below the southern mountain,
where thick grass leaves the bean sprouts sparse.
At dawn I rise to clear the wild growth,
carrying my hoe home by moonlight.
The path is narrow and grass and trees grow tall,
the evening dew wets my clothes;
if my clothes are wet, that is not worth regret,
so long as my wish is not betrayed.


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Chinese Poetry - Wei and Jin - Tao Yuanming
＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝


Where there is life, there must be death;
an early end does not mean fate was short.
Yesterday at dusk I was still among the living,
this morning my name is on the ghost register.
Where has the spirit-soul scattered?
The withered body rests in empty wood.
My dear children cry for their father,
good friends stroke me and weep.
Gain and loss I no longer know,
right and wrong how could I perceive?
After a thousand autumns and ten thousand years,
who will know honor from disgrace?


:
Chinese Poetry - Wei and Jin - Tao Yuanming
＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝


In the Taiyuan reign of Jin, a man of Wuling made his living by fishing. Following a stream, he forgot how far he had gone. Suddenly he came upon a grove of peach trees, stretching several hundred paces along both banks. There were no other trees in it; the fragrant grass was fresh and lovely, and fallen blossoms were scattered in profusion. The fisherman found this very strange. He went on again, wanting to reach the end of the grove. At the end of the grove was the source of the stream, and there he came to a mountain. In the mountain was a small opening, from which there seemed to be light. He left his boat and entered through the opening. At first it was very narrow, barely enough for one person to pass; after walking several dozen steps, it suddenly opened out wide. The land was level and broad, the houses neat and orderly, with good fields, beautiful ponds, mulberry and hemp and the like; paths crossed one another, and the sounds of cocks and dogs could be heard. Among them people came and went, planting and working; the men and women in their dress were all like people outside. The yellow-haired old and the hanging-haired young all looked content and happy. Seeing the fisherman, they were greatly startled. They asked where he had come from, and he answered them all in detail. They then invited him back to their homes, set out wine, killed chickens, and prepared food. When the people of the village heard there was such a man, all came to ask him news. They said that their ancestors had fled the disorders of Qin times and, leading their wives, children, and fellow villagers, had come to this isolated place and never gone out again; thus they had been cut off from people outside. They asked what age it was now; they did not even know there had been a Han, much less Wei or Jin. The fisherman told them in detail all that he had heard, and they all sighed in amazement and regret. The others each again invited him to their homes and all brought out wine and food. After staying several days, he took his leave and went. The people there told him: “This is not worth telling to people outside.” After coming out, he found his boat and then followed the old route back, marking it everywhere as he went. When he reached the prefecture, he went to the governor and told him all this. The governor immediately sent men to go with him and search for it; following the marks he had made, they finally became lost and could no longer find the way. Liu Ziji of Nanyang was a lofty-minded scholar. Hearing of it, he gladly planned to go. But before he could, he soon died of illness. After that there were no more people who sought the ford.

When the house of Ying threw Heaven’s order into chaos,
the worthy fled that age.
The Yellow and White withdrew to Mount Shang;
these people too departed.
Old traces gradually sank and vanished,
the way in grew over and was abandoned.
Calling to one another, they spread out into farming,
at sunset each resting where he pleased.
Mulberry and bamboo cast their lingering shade,
beans and millet were planted in season;
spring silkworms yielded long silk,
and when autumn ripened there was no king’s tax.
Rough paths dimly linked together,
cocks and dogs answered each other with cries.
Their rites and vessels alone kept the ancient ways,
their clothing had no new styles.
Children let themselves roam and sing,
the grizzled old went joyfully visiting.
By grass in bloom they knew the harmony of the seasons,
by trees in decline they knew the harshness of the wind.
Though they had no records of calendar or almanac,
the four seasons themselves made up the year.
Content, with happiness to spare—
what glory is there in cleverness?
This hidden wonder stayed concealed for five hundred years,
then one morning opened like a realm of spirits.
Since the pure and the thin have different sources,
it soon again returned to darkness and concealment.
Ask the wandering seekers of strange arts:
how can they measure what lies beyond the dusty clamor?
I wish I might tread the clear wind,
rise high, and go seek my true companions.


:
Chinese Poetry - Wei and Jin - Tao Yuanming
＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝


I built my hut amid the realm of men,
yet there is no clamor of carriage and horse.
You ask how this can be?
If the heart is distant, the place itself grows remote.
Picking chrysanthemums by the eastern fence,
I leisurely see the southern mountain.
The mountain air is lovely at dusk,
flying birds return together.
Within this there is a true meaning—
I would explain it, but have already forgotten the words.


:
Chinese Poetry - Wei and Jin - Tao Yuanming
＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝


Today the weather is fine,
with clear wind and sounding strings.
Moved by those beneath the cypresses,
how could we not make merry?
Clear songs scatter fresh sounds,
green wine opens our radiant faces.
Who knows what tomorrow may bring?
The feelings in my breast are already spent.


:
Chinese Poetry - Wei and Jin - Tao Yuanming
＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝
::Note::

In past years I left without a mate,
this spring I still return alone.
The kindness and loyalty of my old companion were deep—
I cannot bear to fly in pairs again.


:
Chinese Poetry - Wei and Jin - Lady Wang, Princess of Wei

＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝


The ancients said of this water:
one sip stirs thoughts of a thousand in gold.
But if Yi and Qi were made to drink it,
in the end their hearts would not change.


:
Chinese Poetry - Wei and Jin - Wu Yinzhi
＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝

In my house there are charming girls,
bright and fair of skin.
The younger is called Wansu,
her speech and teeth are naturally clear and neat.
Her hair hangs over her broad forehead,
her two ears are like linked jade disks.
At dawn she plays before the dressing stand,
her painted brows like sweep marks.
Deep vermilion spreads across crimson lips,
yellow at the mouth, richly red.
Her pretty speech is like linked rings,
but when anger comes she is sharp and plain.
She grips the brush deftly with its red handle,
though in seal-cutting no gain is yet to be expected.
Holding books, she loves fine silk,
reciting and practicing, proud of what she has learned.
Her elder sister is called Huifang,
her face and features shine like a painting.
Lightly made up, she likes the tower side,
and before the mirror forgets her spinning.
She raises the cup, imitating the governor of Jingzhao,
and once she sets a mark, she hits it with ease.
Playing with her brows and cheeks,
she is even busier than with loom and shuttle.
At leisure she loves Zhao dances,
extending her sleeves like flying wings.
As she moves up and down by the zither strings,
books of literature and history end up folded and crumpled.
She glances at the paintings on the screen,
as if she herself were pointing out their flaws.
Day by day the colors of the paintings grow dusty and dim,
while the hidden meanings of the bright images are obscured.
She races through the gardens and groves,
snatching fruits before they are fully ripe.
Red blossoms with purple stems,
duckweed fruits are suddenly flung at one another.
Fond of flowers in wind and rain,
in a flash they make hundreds of visits.
They love treading about in frost and snow for play,
their layered shoes often pile up.
With one heart they attend to food and delicacies,
then sit upright arranging trays and shelves.
Brush and ink are put away in boxes on the desk,
and together they count those who are far away.
At a move they are bent over by the brazier and tongs,
their shoes and slippers left to comfort.
At rest they lean over tea and beans,
blowing and puffing before the boiling cauldron.
Grease and rich sauces spread over white sleeves,
smoke scents and stains their caps.
Clothes and quilts are all dragged to the floor,
hard to compare with the blue of aloeswood.
I indulge their childish ways,
yet they are ashamed to accept the blame of elders.
The moment they hear they are about to be caned,
they cover their tears and both turn toward the wall.


:
Chinese Poetry - Wei and Jin - Zuo Si
＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝


Jing Ke drank in the market of Yan,
and when the wine was flowing his spirit grew still more fierce.
His mournful song was answered by Jianli,
as if there were no one else by his side.
Though he lacked the code of a true warrior,
he was still of a different kind from the world.
With lofty gaze he looked far over the four seas—
how could the powerful and wealthy be worth mentioning?
Though the noble esteem themselves noble,
he looked on them as dust.
Though the lowly think themselves lowly,
he valued them as if they weighed a thousand jun.


:
Chinese Poetry - Wei and Jin - Zuo Si

Moderator kickout must be a poetry lover, right?




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